


Halloween Stroll

by saya4haji



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Gift Fic, Halloween, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saya4haji/pseuds/saya4haji
Summary: Daisy takes Peter on his first stakeout in a cemetery. Sibling bonding ensues. Fic of a fic: Happy Accidents by Rhino (RhinoMouse)
Relationships: Peter Parker & Skye | Daisy Johnson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 107





	Halloween Stroll

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rhino (RhinoMouse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhinoMouse/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Happy Accidents](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26455042) by [Rhino (RhinoMouse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhinoMouse/pseuds/Rhino). 



> This is a gift for Rhino(RhinoMouse). Her recent work has been a vacation to the MCU during lockdown. I recommend you read Happy Accidents by Rhino(RhinoMouse) as this story is a spiritual side scene to her story.
> 
> When I asked my gf what I should write as a thank you she said, "It's Halloween, write something in a cemetery." As usual I took her prompt in a totally different direction than what she expected. 
> 
> I have never written MCU fic before so be gentle.

Daisy leans against the old tree, her eyes scanning the graveyard before her. 

Above her head, Peter gives out a tired sigh again and follows it up with an aborted yawn.

“Tired?” Daisy whispers.

Peter’s enhanced senses allow him to hear the quiet words that are little more than a breath on the soft breeze blowing through the tree that he is perched upon.

The young spiderman casts a line of web and lowers himself so that he hangs upside-down with his head beside his sister.

“I’m not tired, just bored. I don’t think anyone is going to show up here tonight,” he whispers back to Daisy.

The two heroes have communication earbuds and could have spread themselves across the cemetery while still staying in contact but Daisy is feeling protective of her little brother tonight. Despite his manly protestations to the opposite, Quake can feel from his body’s vibrations that Peter is uncomfortable at being in a cemetery in the middle of the night. Daisy refuses to call her brother out on his nerves, to embarrass him, or make him feel silly for a perfectly normal human reaction to being in a cemetery this close to Halloween. It is a perfectly normal discomfort, and besides, Peter has shown himself plenty brave enough in situations that would have broken lesser heroes: his courage is beyond question. 

Daisy smirks indulgently at the typical teenage refusal to admit that it may be time for bed, but luckily her mask covers her expression.

Daisy hums and turns to face her brother’s specially constructed black Spiderman suit. Darcy had taken far too much fun in creating the bullet proof suit when Daisy had mentioned that Peter needed a night time suit for more covert operations, something less flashy than his red and blue ensemble. It is almost funny seeing the kid in the dark suit that screams intimidation and threat. The colouring is a dark blue that blends better into the night than any black, and the small spider symbol is a blood red stain on his chest. His goggles are some kind of high tech black reflective material and from their unique curving shape and the number of features that Peter had fanboyed over, Daisy has a sneaking suspicion that Darcy had their father’s help in creating them. Daisy is hesitant to call out Darcy on it lest it speed up the freight train that is her inevitable meeting with, and revelation of her identity to, their father Tony Stark. 

“You’re not tired but you have yawned three times in the last twenty minutes,” Daisy deadpans.

Peter splutters for a moment but quickly muffles his indignation with a quick glance around to ensure no unseen intruders have been alerted to his presence by his outburst. With ease Peter swivells three hundred and sixty degrees on his spider web to check his surroundings before coming back to face his elder sister.

“I’m not tired. Just bored. Besides, research proves that yawning is the body’s way of taking in more oxygen to rejuvenate and enhance alertness. I was consciously employing a technique to stay focused on our surveillance!” Peter’s tone is indignant and just slightly whiny like the teenage boy he is.

That hint of a whine in his tone is all Daisy needs to hear to know that he is really tired. Usually Peter is quite mature for his age when on hero duty, even if he is still an excitable teenager. His life had been hard: the loss of his parents, Uncle Ben, the financial pressures he had faced alongside Aunt May, being one of the poor kids in a predominately wealthy school, being unusually intelligent compared to peers who couldn’t really understand him and dealing with his transformation into Spiderman alone before Daisy busted him. Peter is used to the cold hard truths of life so he rarely complained.

Daisy stands fully from the tree, cracks her neck and rolls her stiff shoulders. “It’s close to 5:00am, if the gang who have been smashing headstones haven’t shown by now then they won’t be here tonight. We’ll head back to Queens, do a quick patrol before sunrise and go home for breakfast. We can both then get some sleep until noon,” Daisy reasoned.

Peter lets go of his web-line and performs a perfect tight flip that brings him to a standing position beside his sister. Daisy admires his athleticism, his natural agility making her stiff back groan in protest. Daisy knows she is no slouch when it comes to physical combat and the more gymnastically inclined techniques of hand to hand combat, but Peter does it effortlessly and instinctively. His body moves fluidly through angles that would leave Daisy’s muscles aching pleasantly and her back requiring a good massage by the end of the week.

By Thor, she feels old sometimes, and for someone in their early twenties that is a depressing thought. 

“We’ll come back next week?” Peter asks with an aggrieved tone.

Daisy begins walking at a leisurely pace through the rows of uniform, white tombstones. With small bursts of her powers she can sense an extremely basic image of the world around her in the pitch darkness. She has night vision goggles but is trying to push and adapt her powers. This is all part of her training to use her abilities more surgically rather than the large, crude blasts of vibrations she had depended on for years. Exercises and applications of her abilities like these have begun to show her that she is capable of far more than she first thought. It’s quite frightening how adaptive her powers really are. 

Currently, her vibrations can only give her a fuzzy sense of what is within two or three feet of her but with practice she is confident that she can extend and refine both the range and clarity of what she can sense. Perhaps even develop something akin to echo location in time, but using atomic vibrations rather than sound waves. Peter’s fancy goggles have perfect nigh vision and he matches her slow pace, charitable enough to allow her to lead at a snail’s pace as she develops her abilities. Daisy cannot help but think that Peter appreciates seeing that Daisy is still learning herself and is not an expert at everything, it boosts his confidence at developing and training his own skills.

Daisy pulls herself from her inner thoughts, “Yeah. Maybe we’ll come back next Friday since I can’t afford to keep you up all this late in a school night and risk you falling asleep in class. Aunt May would have my head on a platter.”

Peter laughs softly, “Yeah, that would be of the bad.”

Daisy nods, “I know this is a dull job but learning the patience and stillness of a good stakeout is key for any hero. Sometimes using your head and having patience is more important than punching people.”

Peter slumps in defeat, “I know, but it’s just so….”

“…Dull?” Daisy finishes.

Peter sighs again, “It’s just that I know there are people I could have helped in the city tonight but instead we were here Cyprus Hills cemetery sitting in a tree waiting for some thugs who are just doing property damage.”

Daisy comes to a screeching halt and her arm snaps out, her hand latching onto Peter’s bicep to spin him to face her.

“It’s not about the property damage Peter. It’s about what it represents,” Daisy commands in a low voice as she drags her brother to the white headstone behind them, a perfect replica of the hundreds, thousands that surround them like white soldiers standing at attention on the grassy plain. Daisy pulls Peter towards the ground and a small flashlight appears in her hands as though by magic, “Read this,” she commands. 

The light clicks on and the bright LED light illuminates the glimmering white headstone and its engraving.

Leon Kisnicky

Col USAF

Vietnam

Feb 17 1938

May 3 2018

Prisoner of War

Loving Husband & Father. 

Above this inscription was a cross denoting he was a Christian, and below it was a metal plaque which was obviously added later which denoted:

Katia Kisnicky

His beloved wife

May 27 1932

Jan 8 2019 

Daisy waits a moment to give Peter a moment to finish reading before explaining, “This part of Cyprus Hills is for Military Veterans only. Every headstone that the gang we are after has smashed has been a veterans, but more than that it was always only headstones with the star and crescent symbols at the top denoting the deceased was a Muslim. This gang isn’t just a bunch of mindless thugs committing property damage. They're racists and Islamaphobic idiots who are dishonouring the resting places of people who died so that idiots like them could enjoy their freedoms. They are causing anguish and heartache to these people’s families. It may not be as glamorous as stopping a bank robbery or helping a little old lady cross the street but this is important Peter. Learning patience and how to stake out a location is important for you and stopping this gang from desecrating anymore headstones, from spreading their hate in a place that should be about respect and honour is important.” 

Peter is quiet as he absorbs his sister’s words, a hollow pit of shame at his impatient and flippant response to Daisy’s dedication to catching this gang tightens his gut. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers. 

Daisy clasps her brothers shoulder as he hunches beside her and she pulls off her mask to offer him a soft smile of reassurance. 

“It’s fine Peter. I was like you when I first joined SHIELD. Eager and full of energy. It took me a while too to understand that sometimes being a hero is a quiet thing. Sometimes being a hero means protecting ideals as well as people, and sometimes it means being bored out of your skull on a stakeout.” 

Peter nods, short and sharp, and he takes the lesson to heart. 

Daisy smiles again and replaces her mask. Clicking off the flashlight she drags Peter up and back towards the grass walkway. 

They walk slowly as Daisy focuses on her senses and Peter’s head swivels to keep an eye on anything coming from further away. 

Spotting a thicket of trees to his left that seems slightly denser than the one they had been hiding in tonight he offers, “There’s a bunch of trees over there that might make a better spot for our stake out next week. Good sight lines and better cover.” 

Daisy follows Peter’s hand as he points into the distance, but her senses are too weak to get a really good feel for what he is referring to. With a sigh of defeat she reaches into a pocket on her pants and pulls out slim night vision goggles that would make any military in the world drool. Darcy did good work Daisy thinks, even if she is secretly working with their sperm donor. 

Peter snickers to her left, “Can’t sense them?” 

Daisy huffs, “No, their too far for me. If I up my vibrations to try and sense anything that far away I am likely to shatter the headstones. I don’t have the control yet to send low level vibrations that far without destroying things, and the feedback would be too much information for my head to make sense of yet. It will probably take me years to develop the vibrational sense thing enough for it to be of any use.” 

Daisy is examining the grouping of trees with a critical eye and concluding that Peter is probably right, the thicket will make a better spot for next weeks surveillance. 

Peter giggles almost hysterically in excitement, “Yeah, it might take years but imagine what you would be like if you mastered it! You could be like Toph Bei Fong in Avatar! You would be able to sense everything around you, maybe more since air vibrates and you can sense it too. It would be such an advantage in scoping out hostile environments, reading opponents and will likely make your vibrational sense of people's emotional state stronger too!,” Peter babbles, his voice rising and hands moving energetically to make his point. 

Daisy refocuses on her brother through the green and black vision of the goggles. 

Peter’s smile beneath his mask slowly dims as he gets no reaction from Daisy, “You have no clue who Toph Bei Fong is, do you?” 

“Not an iota of an idea,” Daisy deadpans.

Peter slouches and trudges ahead of his sister as he mumbles to himself. “Has no appreciation of modern pop-culture! A classic! The Mistress of Earth Bending…how can she not know! And we’re related!” 

Daisy smothers her snort and resumes her slow pace. Peter’s mumbling comes to an abrupt stop when he realises he has strayed ahead of his sister by almost a hundred metres. The cemetery is eerily quiet, wind whistles in the trees and dead leaves rustle. 

His enhanced senses pick up the scuttling feet of mice and the fluttering of owls wings in the distance. Casting a wary glance around Peter sees the rows of headstones and a sudden shiver races down his spine, the hairs on his neck standing up in a way that is disturbingly different to his Spidey sense.

There is little cover around him and nothing tall enough to shoot a web line to in order to get off the ground or speed his exit from the cemetery. Peter feels distinctly unnerved. Peter turns quickly and half runs, half skips back to his sister’s side. He feels stupid about his disquiet, like a child afraid of the dark, but there is something eerie about being in a silent cemetery so close to Halloween. He blames the horror films his sisters made them all watch this week. Peter is thankful when Daisy doesn’t comment on his sudden retreat but merely bumps his shoulder reassuringly as he walks at her side.

With her night vision goggles on Daisy could be walking much quicker now but she maintains her slow and easy pace, as though she is in absolutely no rush to leave the creepy cemetery. If anything, she looks relaxed and at peace. 

Peter watches her from the corner of his eye, her slow gait, relaxed shoulders and the way her hands rest sedately by her pockets rather than balled in tension and ready for action as is their norm. 

He can’t help his rising curiosity, and before he realises it words are flooding past his lips, “You seem awfully chill for someone on a midnight stroll in a cemetery. Like, no fear of vampires and mad occultists or, or a feeling of weirdness at being surrounded by the dead. There are more of them than there are of us here after all.” Peter spins on his heel with his hands thrown wide to indicate the row of white headstones like broken teeth that surround them.

Daisy hums and huffs a laugh at Peter’s attempt at a joke to release some of his fear and tension. Daisy shrugs, “I find it kind of peaceful actually, the dead are of no threat to the living. I know that there are entities that deal with such restless spirits. Besides, being here reminds me of..”

Daisy cuts herself off abruptly and her teeth snap shut with a click. Her shoulder’s curl slightly in defence and her easy going gate now telegraphs unease. Peter waits and walks slowly at her side. Getting Daisy to reveal her inner thoughts and share private memories can be difficult. She will easily recount missions for training purposes so he can learn from her mistakes. Her voice when retelling those stories or discussing her past in general is always either dispassionate or filled with false cheer and sarcasm, but rarely does she discuss anything about herself that isn’t connected to training and their work.

Peter can feel his curiosity burning and after almost a minute of silence he asks hesitantly, “It reminds you of what?” His voice is whisper soft as though trying not to scare off a wild animal.

As capable as his sister is, Peter has quickly learned that she struggles to share parts of herself. She deflects with humour and sarcasm most of the time or hides behind the masks of Quake and the face of the competent SHIELD spy. They walk for another thirty seconds in silence, the exit of the cemetery coming into view. Peter is resigning himself that Daisy will not answer and she will deflect with some discussion about their journey home or the last patrol of Queens they have planned for this morning.

It is a shock then when Daisy’s voice floats on the gentle breeze, her tone soft and reminiscent as though she is not totally here anymore, “It reminds me of when I was a kid. I used to sneak out to a cemetery near one of my foster homes when I was 11 or 12.”

Peter can barely contain the thousand questions that flood his mind and rush behind his teeth. He almost salivates at the thought of getting to ask his sister about her childhood. He knows it wasn’t a happy time for Daisy. She so rarely talks about the time she spent ‘bouncing around the care system’ as she called it. Her tales and reminiscing usually begins and ends from the time of her recruitment with SHIELD. Peter bites his tongue however and remembers a lesson that Darcy gave in negotiating tactics when they were discussing the Accords last week: silence is a powerful tool in an interrogation and a negotiation. People feel uncomfortable with silence and naturally want to fill it. Where a question may shut them down, silence may insight them to speak. Peter thinks that tactic works best on people like Darcy and him whose mouths never seem to rest much like their father. Daisy, he thinks, must take after her mother because she has always seemed quite able and happy to let a silence remain unbroken.

Daisy’s eyes dart to Peter as though scrutinising his silence, genuinely surprised by it. For the first time ever, whether in reward for his ability to remain quiet or because she could sense his curiosity, Daisy elaborated unprompted. “My home at the time kind of sucked. The parents were fosters for the money and nothing else. They were having their own marital problems too so it wasn’t exactly the best environment.”

Something about the tenseness of Daisy’s shoulder’s and the vagueness of her description tells Peter that his sister is underselling how uncomfortable and hostile her foster home was. Protective rage pools in his gut and he can feel his hands clench into fists. It’s irrational he knows. His sister is an adult now. A hero. She is older than him and could kick his butt from here to Brooklyn and back with her eyes closed, but he still wants to protect her. Darcy and Daisy would likely lambast him for toxic masculinity and falling into caveman stereotypes if he ever voiced such feelings…or maybe call it cute. You could never be sure with the terrifying unpredictability of women.

Before the impotent rage can overwhelm him Daisy’s warm arm and shoulder brush his and he is pulled from his thoughts. Daisy doesn’t pull back. Her arm remains brushing his and in a moment of realisation Peter sees the accidental touch for the subtle desire for comfort that it is. 

He desperately wants to throw his arms around his sister and while she has gotten better at accepting and giving hugs he knows instinctively that such a gesture while she is sharing something that makes her feel exposed would make her clam up tighter than a frogs asshole. Instead, Peter leans into the contact, his arm and shoulder press against his sister as they walk steadily in lockstep towards the towering gate of the cemetery.

In a move completely uncharacteristic of Peter Parker and only ever before seen when he had to comfort May after Uncle Ben's death, Peter stayed quiet. He did not babble, he just offered quiet acceptance and space for his sister to share, to talk and to be as she pleased.

After another moment of silence and seeing that Peter isn’t about to pressure her for more, Daisy speaks again, “There was a cemetery a few streets down from the foster home. It was one of those older gothic things that was more maze than cemetery after so many years of people burying their dead and erecting statues or mausoleums wherever they felt like it before modern regulations came in. I used to go there after school to do my homework or to read. It was quiet and once it got dark no-one would be around because it was apparently pretty creepy. I just thought it was peaceful. Everything there was dead, no one wanted anything from me, no one was going to bother me and the mausoleums gave cover from the rain. I could tinker with computer parts I had nabbed from a local junk yard…it was nice. I could stay there until it was late enough that I knew the foster folks had passed out from drinking or gone to bed. I could sneak back into the house and sleep in peace.”

Peter’s teeth grind as he picks out the details of what Daisy isn’t saying. He wants to let his anger rise but he knows it is pointless. Daisy sometimes seems oblivious to how badly she was treated as a kid, how not normal it was that she had no-one to lean on.

Peter unhinges his jaw and weakly mutters the first platitude he can think of to cover his discomfort, “It sounds like you were a brave little rebel even then. Hiding out in the creepy cemetery where others feared to tread.”

Daisy laughs outright and something light and mournfully wistful enters her voice as she murmurs, “Perhaps. I loved walking around the cemetery, reading all the names and inscriptions. The idea that these people were loved by so many people that they would build monuments and engrave their connections in stone was like something out of a fairy-tale.”

Peter can’t help but think how macabre that thought is. He casts his eyes across the cemetery they are walking in now and imagines a childlike Daisy, shorter, softer, with childish features, skipping through the tombstones and reading the inscriptions. A small, fragile little girl without her powers and so alone in the world that she thinks the idea of a tombstone erected by wives, husbands, kids and grandkids is worthy of a fairy-tale. To a child who had always been alone, perhaps being loved by and having so much family to engrave on a tombstone was the stuff of fiction to Daisy back then.

Peter is suddenly deeply thankful for his aunt May. No matter what tragedies befell him, how lonely he was, he always had May. He always knew he had family and he was loved. 

Daisy cocks her head to the side as she walks and laughs softly at herself, “I used to daydream what my life would have been like if the people in the graves were my parents. Back then one set of corpses could as easily have been my parents as another and I used to daydream what it would have been like to be the daughter of Matthew VonStaugh, the daughter of Ling Zhao or the sister of Dimitri Matoniv.”

Peter swallows harshly, lost for words at the thought of his sister being so alone she dreamed of being related to some long dead person beneath her feet in a cemetery far from here.

Peter bumps his sister’s shoulder more firmly as they exit the gates of the cemetery and make their way towards their van which is parked in a side street out of sight, “Well, no need to dream anymore. You have an epic brother and a slightly hyperactive sister now.”

Daisy pulls her keys from an unseen pocket and nudges Peter hard enough to make him stumble as he splits off towards the passenger side door, “Yeah, epic. That is not the word I would choose: nerdy, gangly, goofy…”

“Hey! I resemble those comments!” Peter squawks in faux outrage.

Daisy laughs and her eyes shine as she pulls off her mask, “I suppose you’re alright. My favourite brother at least. Courageous and smarter than anything I dreamed of at least.”

Peter pulls his mask off as he climbs into the van and his cheeks glow with a happy blush at his sister’s compliments before he catches up with her first comment, “”Wait! I’m your only brother!”

The engine roars to life and Daisy laughs heartily, “With the man-whore as our Dad, who knows!” Peter grimaces and they both dissolve into laughter as the van pulls out into the street. 

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this one shot. Please comment and kudos.


End file.
